What does OXI Day mean to me? As a first-generation Greek-American, I never had a class in Greek history. Sure I took AP American History in high school. I faintly remember Mr Driggs, the wonderful African-American teacher who enthralled me with his knowledge, speaking about the role of Greece in delaying the onslaught of the Nazi advance through Europe. But, that was it. In order to get the real story of the pivotal role the tiny nation of Ellas played during this massive conflict, I had to educate myself. History is tied to politics. It depends on who is telling the story and who tells it with the loudest voice. When you reside thousands of miles away from your home culture, you get to study the dominant culture’s history, not your own.

The circumstances around OXI Day go something like this:

-there was a diplomatic party at German Embassy in Athens

-after the party at 4 o’clock in the morning the Italian ambassador to Greece delivered the message to General Metaxas, the dictator of Greece at the time, allow Axis forces to enter Greek territory and occupy certain unspecified “strategic locations” or go to war.

-a half later, General Metaxa delivered the answer in one short word: “OXI” (But more precisely, it was “OXI, Alors c’est la guerre.”)

-an hour after that at 5:30 am in the morning, Italian troops stationed in Albania, then an Italian protectorate, attacked the Greek border—the beginning of Greece’s participation in World War II

-after the rest of Greece find out about the news, on the morning of October 28th, normal citizens, even those at odds and at the extreme of the political spectrum, ran into the streets yelling “OXI!”

So often the political and historical sounds far away and is far removed from the present and the personal. But in a small country like Greece, the political impact of events has a way of trickling down to the individual. Fast forward to 2003. On a day like October 28th, I remember attending a screening of a little-known documentary called “The Eleventh Day” at the local chapter of the Cretan Society. It told the story of the Battle of Crete. Using archival footage and interviews of men and women who took part, the film told the story of how regular every-day people, simple village people like my yiayia who could not read or write, organized themselves and took incredible risks to smuggle maps and other intelligence to the Greek forces. (In one scene, a Greek official smuggled maps through the scrutiny of two guards by hiding them in the most apparent place–within the confines of his closed umbrella.) I saw how mothers clandestinely sent messages via a tight-knit network of children to the guerilla fighters, sons and husbands, fighting in the mountains.

An artist’s rendition of the falling of the German parachutists over Chania

I envisioned how my yiayia could have taken the butcher knife she had used to harvest grapes from the vine to a German paratrooper’s throat, the one who dropped down into her vineyards in a village outside of Sfakia, Crete. Hitler did not anticipate so much resistance on the part of the civilian population. In fact, you could say yiayiades beat the Germans’ butts off. If it hadn’t been for the Battle of Crete, the intelligence that the Germans used would never have been deciphered. Hitler underestimated the time it would take to take over Crete and continue his onslaught of Europe. The delays caused in Crete and along the Northern border with Albania forced him to dispatch reinforcements. The delay cost time and by then, the spring had turned into winter and nothing is as brutal as the Russian winter. Ultimately, it was the Russian winter that decimated Hitler’s army. This changed the tide of the war.

Memorial to those who fell in the Battle of Crete

But the people’s resistance did not go by unpunished. This is what the Wikipedia post says about “The Battle of Crete”:

Cretan civilians joined the battle with whatever weapons were at hand. In some cases, ancient matchlock rifles which had last been used against the Turks were dug up from their hiding places and pressed into action. Civilians went into action armed only with what they could gather from their kitchens or barns and several German parachutists were knifed or clubbed to death in olive groves. An elderly Cretan man clubbed a parachutist to death with his walking cane, before the German could disentangle himself from his parachute.[67]A priest and his son broke into a village museum and took two rifles from the era of the Balkan Warsand sniped German paratroops at landing zones. The Cretans used captured German small arms and civilians joined in the Greek counter-attacks at Kastelli Hill and Paleochora; the British and New Zealand advisors at these locations were hard pressed to prevent massacres. Civilians also checked the Germans to the north and west of Heraklion and in the town centre.[68]

Thousands of Fallschirmjager were dropped onto Crete.

This was the first occasion that the Germans encountered widespread resistance from a civilian population and were surprised. After the shock, the Germans retaliated, killing many Cretan civilians. The Holocaust of Viannos(Greek: Ολοκαύτωμα της Βιάννουand theMassacre of Kondomari(Σφαγή στο Κοντομαρί) were exterminations of civilians of around 20 villages east of Viannos and west of Ierapetra provinces. The killings, with a death toll in excess of 500, were carried out from 14–16 September 1943, by Wehrmachtunits. They were accompanied by the burning of most villages, and the looting and destruction of harvests.[69][70]The massacres were some of the deadliest of the Axis occupation of Greece during World War II. It was ordered by Generalleutnant Friedrich-Wilhelm Müller, in retaliation for the involvement of the local population in the Cretan resistance. Müller, “the Butcher of Crete”, was killed after the war for his part in the massacre. As most Cretan partisans wore no uniforms or insignia such as armbands or headbands, the Germans felt free of all of the constraints of the Hague conventions and killed armed and unarmed civilians indiscriminately.[a]

OXI Day has to do with the underdog. It has to do with the power of NO– with the power of keeping strict boundaries, with not caving in to bullies or power gesturing cowards. It has to do with self-esteem and dignity and integrity. It has to do with the bravery that normal people, like my yiayia, find buried deep inside them that comes out at times of crisis. I think it is a history lesson that transcends history; it has to do with everyday relations and interpersonal dynamics. It is a lesson we are still repeating today (Remember back in July when Greece said OXI to the Greek referendum?) This is the lesson that OXI Day has for me.

There are perks to knowing Greek as a schoolgirl. You are the only one in your class to understand what “microbe” is without running to the dictionary.Besides just knowledge, there is a deeper wisdom that knowing words in a different language, especially Greek, bestows you.Psychologists claim that the language you are born with shapes the way you see the world and make sense of it around you.It literally colors, shapes, and orders your world.

For me, breaking down Greek words into their roots, the etymology of Greek words, provides a small insight into the mind of the ancient Greeks.They are kernels of philosophy unto themselves.The fact that a word even exists in a language gives insight into the importance of the schema (from Greek “shape” or “outward physical form”) of the abstract value or ideal it tries to capture in the culture. Here is just a random list of the kernels of Greek wisdom robed in the layers of their word histories.

In Ancient Athens, contributing to politics and society in general was considered the norm and highly desirable. Those who didn’t take part were considered apolitical and selfish; this was frowned upon and all citizens aspired to be politically active. It was rare for citizens to demonstrate apathy towards what was happening in their state and common issues. The overwhelming majority of Athenians participated in politics to a greater or lesser extent. (Of course, the ancients got the woman issue all wrong as they did not give citizenship status to women).

Those who did not contribute to politics and the community were known as “Idiotes” (ΙΔΙΩΤΕΣ),originating from the word “Idios” (ΙΔΙΟΣ) which means the self. If you did not demonstrate social responsibility and political awareness you were considered apathetic, uneducated and ignorant. The word was transferred to latin as “idiota” and was used to describe an uneducated, ignorant, inexperienced, common person.

Considering the above, it is easy to identify how the primary form and meaning of the word mutated to modern“idiot”. Most importantly it is worth noting that ancient Greeks valued political participation and collective governance. A completely different state of mind from what we see in most societies today where most demonstrate apathy to what happens around them. It is not far from the truth to conjecture that the majority of Americans are “idiotes” based on the percentage of non-voters in the previous elections.

2-“Kairos” the perfect time; the delicate or perfect or crucial moment; the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for action words or movement.” We all know how “timing is everything.” When your girlfriend is just at that right mood, you can pop the question. When you’ve just had a winning sales streak, that’s when to ask your boss for the raise. When your opponent’s army is stuck in winter storms, that’s when you unleash the invasion. The Greeks knew this too. That’s why the word “Kairos” carries all that meaning in just one punch. It is the economy of Greek words and phrases, the ability to capture a compendium of explanation in one or two words that is extraordinary.

3 “Oniomania” the frenzy for buying things. You know that girlfriend of yours in Macy’s who racks up $500 in credit card debt in less than two hours, there’s a word to describe her–“oniomaniac” someone who just can’t stop buying things. Not me! I don’t have that disease. I have “aprati” the love of collecting beautiful things.

The Greeks nailed it. As nuanced understanders of human character, they have many words that apply to psychological states, “belonephobia: the excessive fear of needles” “plegmatic” full of phlegm or despondent, depressive,” “lethargic” as slow-moving, forgetful and lazy as the river in hell named Lethe.

4 I am not a morning person. Just the struggle of getting out of bed in the early morning hours is a war of my soul. Believe it or not, the Greeks had a word to capture this hellish condition, “clinomania” the excessive desire to stay in bed.” They even had a word to capture that in-between state of half-awakeness and half falling into sleep, that “la-la almost about to fall but can’t stop reading the page from the book,” nodding in and out of consciousness feeling. It’s called “hypnagogic” the state immediately before falling asleep.

5 “Meraki” one of my favorite concepts is “meraki” (the soul, creativity, or love put into something; the essence of yourself that is put into your work. ” The idea that when you work or make something and you put a little of you in it. When you put your passion, your soul, your love of the thing in it, it comes out better. It always does! You can taste the meraki in someone’s cooking, you can feel their passion in what they do. Let’s be honest: it’s the meraki you put into your work that makes it worthwhile. Work without meraki is just drudgery.

6 “Drapetomania” the overwhelming urge to drop everything and run away. Yup, I know what that’s like. How often have you pulled your hair tightly and screamed, “Fuck it all! I’m going to Greece! Or Timbuktu or Paris or Melbourne or anywhere but here.” I’ve been guilty of this many times in my life. But the Greeks nailed the condition in one word. Or what about “peripatetic” (my yiayia loved to come over and tell me “pame peripato”) someone who loves to walk a long time, get lost and wander. Walking makes you happy; it also helps you think. That’s why I think the Greeks did a lot of it. There were no desks in Plato’s Academy. The teachers and students would walk around a circular track and talk and walk and talk and walk.

7 As keen observers of nature, the ancient Greeks had words for the sound of the leaves and rain. “Petrichor” is the smell of the earth after the rain. You know how it smells; no need for words to describe it if you have one concept word for it all. “Psithurism” is the sound of rusting leaves. These are soothing concepts for a “nemophilist” someone who haunts the woods and loves its solitude and beauty. Get me into a forest and let me walk and get lost; I’m happy. I don’t feel so weird because there is a word that describes a whole category of people just like me.

8 The Greeks were the first psychologists. Their words describe so many psychological states they could have written the DSM in Greek. You know those people who are lost in fantasy worlds. They have a “paracosm: Greek. A detailed imaginary world created inside one’s mind. This fantasy world may involve humans, animals, and things that exist in reality; or it may also contain entities that are entirely imaginary, alien, and otherworldly.” Or those other delusional types, who can’t see the bitter realities in front of them and always sugar coat their lives. The ones who go around wearing rose-tinted glasses. These suffer from “kalopsia” seeing everything from a better perspective than what it is. And you know how the older you get, the faster times speeds up? They called that “zenosyne” the sense that time keeps going faster.

9 “Ataraxia: the inability to get shook up; tranquility and balance.” Wikipedia explains it as the only true happiness possible for a person. It signifies the state of robust tranquility that derives from eschewing faith in an afterlife, not fearing the gods because they are distant and unconcerned with us, avoiding politics and vexatious people, surrounding oneself with trustworthy and affectionate friends and, most importantly, being an affectionate, virtuous person, worthy of trust. (wikipedia). Ataraxia is the Greek equivalent of Zen. Don’t get upset over stupid people, come to terms with your own mortality, don’t ask for answers from the gods (they don’t care about humans all that much as they are more concerned about screwing each other), get some good friends around you and have some wine, but don’t be miserable and grouchy but reliable and trustworthy. That’s all folks. That’s all we can hope for in happiness from this world.

There are millions of words from ancient Greek roots used in English that provide a fascinating insight into the Greek mind. That’s the key. Keeping your mind Greek. Keeping the Greek language roots maintains the wisdom of the ancients within you. It makes you wiser and smarter. (There’s a claim for that too. Some languages such as Greek force your brain to make more synaptic connections in a sense revving up your thinking machine and making your overall smarter and quicker at processing information. Stay tuned for this post soon.

Some examples of the wisdom of Greek thought captured in the kernels of words.

A place of paradox. Families of six packed into Golden Age apartment buildings. Crystal chandeliers hang from crumbling walls–but no electricity. Ornate brass sinks enameled with peacocks—but no running water. No Smartphones, no working WiFi—but lots and lots of Chevy convertibles from the 1950s. Old-school TVs, the ones with antennae and a turn-it dial broadcasting in 4 or 5 state-run channels reminding citizens “Viva La Revolucion.” A glance into the state grocery stores, or rather warehouses, reveals empty shelves that span into the dark interior except for stock boxes of soap or sugar in the same-old burlap sack. No vitamins, no batteries, no bandaids. Going to Cuba is like taking a step backwards in time or entering into a black-and-white commercial from the 50s.

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This is the humbling lesson of Cuba—a visitor jets away counting his or her blessings; remembers that others dream of what he/she takes for granted back home. “Thank God I don’t have to live here,” the tourist thinks. He can pay for a swanky room for $20 a day, equivalent to the average monthly salary of a typical Cubano. The double-standard of foreign luxury vs national poverty is displayed by the double currency. The CUC, or cubano cubertible, is the one used on the “free market” while the moneda nacional is the one cubanos use. $1 CUC is equal to 25 moneda nacional. The CUC was introduced in the 90s to syphon off foreign investment into the country.

Yet after sauntering through the streets of Old Havana, exploring the rich green valleys of Vinales province, talking with the paijanos of the campo collecting tobacco, the visitor comes to understand a deeper paradox of poverty–poverty can make you free. Deprived of the luxuries, some the necessities, of life, el pueblo cubano displays a freedom of soul hard to find in the first world. Poverty cultivates a deep spiritual richness of soul. Even while the people struggle with making their daily bread, they dream, they dance, they laugh, they smile, and they are good to one another.

I bumped into an octagenerian poet on the corner of Mercerdaries and Obra Pia who recited the first page of his hand-stitched libretto. At the Portocarreras Gallery I had a stimulating conversation with a print-maker about his process that involved three techniques—celluloid exposure transfer, print press and paint. After work hours, when the bands gather on the corners to delight the visitors with the rhythmic pelvic pounding of the bongo drum breaking them out into a spontaneous salsa flurry. When was the last time you danced, never mind danced on the street?

This is the great paradox of poverty—that you synthesize at the end of your stay in Cuba– you realize that it is because of the lack of materialism that people are truly free and happy. This is not to romanticize poverty—I am sure that when a mother lacks antibiotics to bring down the lung infection in her infant or when a father stares blankly at empty shelves of the government almacen or warehouse, he does not feel very free. But I have witnessed how rich and supportive the relationship between neighbors and family members and friends can be. I was invited to Alamar, a working-class suburb in Havana East. The family I visited opened their home and their hearts and fed me a delicious dish of arroz cubana.

Because they are not burdened with the cares of the monetary industrialized complex, not worried about the self-inflicted competition to catch up and surpass the Joneses, they are all more or less, probably much less, in the same boat. They can be free to express their authentic selves. Their creativity sparkles; their relationships solid; their concern in the present.

And this is the further paradox that an American learns from a cubano. That you can have nothing—a ramshackle house to live in, dirty holes in your shoes, no car but a packed guagua, no A/C in 95 degree humid weather, and you can still be happy. Cuba teaches America that you can have very little and still be insanely happy. That Cuba forces you to dance in the midst of a crumbling building. That joy does not come from buying the next upgraded iPhone or amassing 20 pairs of Manolo Bhatniks or even living in a single-family home. True happiness comes from the spiritual wealth you bring to your life—your story, your party, your poem, your game, your cigar and your bottle of rum. The freedom to live your authentic self.

Perhaps I would be happier to live in Cuba even if poorer. Perhaps happiness is inversely proportional to materialism (up to a basic extent). On the exit ticket for this trip is scribbled the notes:
“Cuba—keep smiling (even when your teeth fall out).

I have had a long-standing obsession with Greek herbs. Plop me on a seaside cliff in the Aegean, a mountain side in the Peloponnesus, a valley in Larissa, and I am foraging around stones and pebbles for things green and flavorful, plucking wildflowers, rubbing leaves between my thumbs, and putting twigs under my nose. There are approximately 8,000 varieties of herbs native to Greece. You can be foraging for a long time. But this past year I had an herbalist’s dream come true—I trekked through Vikos Gorge in the The Vikos–Aoös National Park (Greek: Εθνικός Δρυμός Βίκου–Αώου Ethnikós Drymós Víkou–Aóou).

The dry seasonal river runs through Vikos Gorge channel, most time of the year, about 38 km long. At 990m deep near Monodendri and 1350 m near its end, it is one of the deepest in the world, indeed the deepest in proportion to its width.

For a botanist, Vikos is like you’ve died and gone to heaven. Vikos-Aoos is one of the ten national parks in mainland Greece, located 19 miles or 30 kilometres north of the city of Ioannina in the northern part of the Pindus mountain range. What makes this wide 31,135 acre park, part of the Natura 2000 and UNESCO Geoparks systems, so special is the spectacular Vikos Gorge, carved by the Voidomatis river. The gorge’s main part is 12 km (7 mi) long and attains a depth of 1,000 meters (3,300 ft). The entire Vikos Gorge channel, a dry seasonal river during most time of the year, is about 38 km long. At 990m deep near Monodendri and 1350 m near its end, it is one of the deepest in the world, indeed the deepest in proportion to its width. This depth and the unique position has resulted in Vikos remaining in an almost virgin condition for centuries, giving rise to a diverse variety of ecosystems. Much like a tropical rain forest, there are niches of plants (biotopes) that layer each successive altitude of the gorge.

More majestic views of the Zagorachorgia the rich mountain area in an UNESCO protected natural park.

The other factor that makes Vikos and the surrounding area so unique is its lack of human habitation. In fact, the population of the area is about 3,700, which gives a population density of 4 inhabitants per square kilometer, compared to an average of 73.8 for Greece as a whole. Wow! That’s a lot of space for flowers and plants to grow without human interference. So in tandem, the park’s remoteness and relatively small human population, combined with the great variation of biotopes and microclimatic conditions favors the existence of a rich variety of flora, by some counts 1,700 by others 1,800 specific to the Vikos Gorge area.

Vikos Gorge is all about flower power. It is the rich existence of herbs and flowers native to the niches of this region, known as Zagori or Zagarochoria, that made it famous, especially from the 17th through the 19th century. Herbal healers known as the Vikos doctors gathered herbs endemic to Vikos Gorge for their preparations in the long tradition of folk medicine. So renowned were they that they made house calls to the nobility of northern Europe and Russia, traveling with their valises stuffed with pungent herbs and plants. Like the medieval guilds, they kept the knowledge of medicinal plants a family affair and passed on knowledge of herbal remedies from father to son and mother to daughter for many generations. They gained great fame among the Ottomans. Some even served as advisors in the courts of the Ottoman Sultans. One named Paschaloglou from Kapesovo even became a confidente of four Sultans: Abdul Hamit I, Suleiman III, Mustafa IV and Mahmut II.

Local inhabitants are happy to share their herbal remedies and even sell herbs out of their back yards.

During my hike through the steep slopes of the gorge, I came across horse chestnut (Aesculus hippocastanum) grow, a tree native to the countries of the Balkan peninsula that is included in the global list of species in need of protection of the U.N. In spring, color is added to the stone by snowdrops (Galanthus reginae – olgae subsp. Vernalis), Centauries (Centaurea pawlowskii) and Madonna Lilies (Lilium candidum), all flowers protected by legislation and international treaties. (Very hard to follow the law and not pluck these beauties). There are even prehistoric flowers in the gorge. Among the rarest plants, Serbian phoenix (Ramonda serbica), dates back from an earlier geological period when the climate was tropical in Europe.

Overlooking Tymphi Mountain in the Pindos Mountains. Wherever you look at the side of the road, there are wild flowers and medicinal plants for the foraging.

One of the herbs used was the nightshade Atropa belladonna for cholic spasm.The drug atropine has been extracted from this plant which is medicinally used for this purpose to our own day. It is also said that two Vikos doctors, Pantazis Exarchou and Zonias, used fungi to treat infected wounds well before penicillin was discovered by Alexander Fleming. Other plants with suspected or known medicinal properties were also in their repertory and grow abundantly in the area, among them the lemon balm Melissa officinalis, St John’s Wort Hypericum perforatum, absinth Artemisia absinthium and the elder bush Sambucus nigra.

From the scientific article published in the Journal of Ethnopharmacology “The tradition of medicinal plants in Zagori, Epirus (northwestern Greece)” by M Malama and M. Marselos, professors in pharmacology at the University of Ioannina, a compendium of some of the most effective medicinal plants and herbs from the region have been traced from manuscripts and old recipe books up to their present day usage among inhabitants of the 12 towns that ring the gorge.

Valeriana officialis, one of the flowering plants native to the Vikos Aoos Nature Park

Cistus creticus L. or Cistes, one of the many flowering medicinal plants in Vikos Gorge

Herbal medicine and lore follows a strong oral tradition dating back centuries in Vikos and continue to the present day. Many family-run herbal stores package herbs foraged for savoriness and healing from around the Zagorachorgia. Each keeps their own recipes and concoctions and are willing to share the knowledge with travelers. The knowledge of this folk medicine is so detailed that another study has enumerated 67 different therapeutic uses for the herbs collectively known as “mints” traded in Thessaloniki. Among them the 22 uses, already mentioned by Dioscurides, show that the utilization of “mints” as herbal medicines in the Mediterranean countries has a long tradition. (“Mints”, smells and traditional uses in Thessaloniki (Greece) and other Mediterranean countries).

Vikos Gorge is just one tiny patch of ground in the good country that is Greece. Each region and elevation has its own school of folk remedies and plant uses. This makes Greece’s herbal tradition one of the oldest and richest in the world.

A rugged resident of the region prepares for the winter by foraging for firewood starting from September.

Luckily for me, my family comes from a village on the remote side of a remote Cycladic island—no hospitals, no doctors, no calling 911 for an emergency. There was no pharmacy you could send your prescription to pick up after work. Everything had to be done on the spot with the native flora of the island. Each section of each plant and flower became a medical reference manual specific to treat ailments, disease, and as elixirs and tonics to improve general health. If they survived, it was because of their knowledge of folk medicine and the detailed passing down of recipes for poultices, concoctions, teas and salves. My grandmother and her grandmother before her across a long line of folk tradition used herbs and natural remedies to cure everything from the common cold to scorpion bites. My attraction to herbal cures and the fragrances of flowers and plants runs in my ancestral blood.

To see some of the organic soaps and skin products I create with the herbs and plants from my native island country, please check out my e-shop Greek Goddess Gifts

Θεοφανώ Σκλήραινα, Theophano Skleraina 955 – June 15, 991 was the niece of the Byzantine Emperor John I Tzimiskes, she was of #Greek and #Armenian descent. By her marriage with Holy Roman Emperor Otto II, she was #Empress consort of the Holy Roman Empire and held regency as Empress dowager upon her husband’s death in 983. Her name is derived from #Medieval Greek Theophaneia (Θεοφάνεια), “appearance of God” (Theophany). She became the mother of Otto III the so-called and “Wonder of the World.”

The statue of Theophano Skleraina outside of the Cathedral in Cologne where she is buried

Back in the day when relations between the East Byzantine Empire and the Western side of the Holy Roman Empire were still workable, Otto 1 had asked Byzantine princess to marry his son, Otto II , so as to seal a treaty between them. The Byzantine Emperor John I Tzimiskes sent his niece Theophano, which arrived in grand style in 972, with escort and bearing great treasure as a gift.

According to historian Thietmar, Otto 1. I did not like that Theophano was not his daughter, but the niece of the emperor. But the good emperor pointed to the fine print in the marriage contract–he would supply a neptis (ie niece or granddaughter) of Emperor John Tsimiski, not a daughter.

Historians give Theophanu a bad rap because she introduced luxury and decadence into the stiff, conservative German court. But that’s entirely a question of perspective. She Greekified the court is what she did, sparking some life into it. Rumor has it she bathed every day with costly perfumes. She wore elaborate gowns fitting her majesty. In other words, she spiced things up. OPA!

An example of the decadence and gossip the bad girl got in her lifetime. This is the covering to one of the nails used during Christ’s Crucifixion. Byzantine style was renowned for luxurious over-embellishment. This object was numbered among her extensive jewelry collection.

The #Benedictine chronicler Alpert of Metz describes Theophanu as being an unpleasant and talkative woman. Theophano was also criticized for her decadence, which manifested in her bathing once a day and introducing luxurious garments and jewelry into #Germany. She is credited with introducing the #fork and #spoon to #Western#Europe – chronographers mention the astonishment she caused when she “used a golden double prong to bring food to her mouth” instead of using her hands as was the norm.” Oh my! What a sin! Using a utensil, a sign of civilization, instead of your grubby fingers caked with dirt.

The sarcophagus of Theophanu in Cologne Cathedral; born in Constantinopole she married Otto 11 and became Holy Empress of Roman Empire

Theophano is also credited with introducing a fine vine from the Eastern Byzantine empire to Germany. In fact, the breed of grape she planted on the banks of the Rhine remains to this day the basis for the entire wine culture of that region.

Even while getting slammed for being a busybody and wanton, she managed to teach those higfallutin Germans how to eat, how to dress, and how to drink wine. In short, she taught them how to be Greek for a while.

She also got into trouble for getting passionately embroiled in a love affair with a monk of all people. The theologian Peter Damian asserts that Theophanu had a love affair with John Philagathos, a Greek monk who briefly reigned as #Antipope John XVI.

Lets face it, if you had been born in a backwards village in the backwaters of Greece in the 19th century, you would have faced marriage in your teens to a man you had never met or met for a brief coffee that was twice your age. You would have been beaten if you did not follow his dictates. Your destiny for marriage partner, the decisive factor for your life, would depend on your dowry. Think about it– a big pine chest with a few linens and silver cups–would determine your future. You would live “kept in line” by the tyranny of the honor code: you could not walk outside the boundaries of your rigid gender role, not be seen walking by yourself or speaking to outside your immediate kin by fear that you would be spoiling your family’s reputation. You would probably be illiterate or have an elementary education, because women could not attend university like their brothers. You would be relegated to a life of raising children, shackled to the sink and stove. If this state of affairs resembles too closely a “Nightmare in Saudi Arabia” documentary, take a deep breath of relief that you as a Greek woman living in the Diaspora has more freedom than some of your counterparts back in the Old Country.

What you might not realize is that the freedoms Greek women enjoy only recently came about. The dowry system was banned in 1983, that’s in your lifetime. Greek women earned the right to vote in 1952, almost 40 years after the women in the US. Arranged marriage still happens in Greece and Cyprus, and even in the US (Callinicos’ classic text of growing up female in America American Aphrodite documented the practice in late 1970’s New Jersey).

In patriarchy oppressed Crete, where the “extreme” men have taboos of enganging in “female” domestic work such as cleaning up after their meal for fear of losing their masculinity, a forward-thinking woman rose up to champion the rights of women. You have never heard of her, Kalliroi Parren, but this is her story.

Kalliroi Paren as a young woman at the cusp of launching her literary careerThe Famous “Journal of the Ladies”–the first such publication dedicated to women’s issues with the photo of its founder, Kalliroi Siganou-Parren

Kalliroi Siganou Parren (1859–1940) is remarkable as the founder of the Greek women’s rights movement, the first Greek female journalist with an international following, publisher of the first journal dedicated to women’s rights, political reformer and philanthropist.

Kalliroi Siganou-Parren was born in 1859 in Platanias, a village in the Amari Valley near Rethymnon, Crete. She was the first to introduce feminism to Greece, mainly through her weekly ‘Ladies Journal’ (Εφημερίδα των Κυριών) and therefore she can also be regarded as the first female journalist in Greece.

During the last half of the nineteenth century the Greek nation was trying to define itself as a modern European state but also as the bearer of ancient Greek customs, traditions and lore. The question of women’s rights and the role of women in society influenced this cultural process and was reflected in the arts and the cultural life of the time.

An old photo of Kalliroi Siganou-Parren that appeared in the press when she was undergoing a letter war defending a woman’s right to work and education

Kallirroi Siganou-Parren advanced her feminist ideas through her writing and her political work on this background of a state trying to find its cultural identity. At first her family lived in Rethymnon but due to events during one of the many Cretan uprisings against the Turkish occupation of Crete (1866-1869) the family was forced to flee Crete and settle in Athens. Here, in 1879 she graduated from ‘Arsakeion’ – a private institution that trained female teachers run by nuns.

For a while she worked as the headmistress of a girls school in Odessa until she met her husband, the Anglo-French journalist Jean Parren. The couple moved back to Athens and the journalistic milieu she met here inspired what she called her ‘mania for writing’. She was foremost occupied with women’s emancipation through education and work.

Greek women casting their ballots for the first time in the 1950s.

The ‘Ladies Journal’ that were soon to become an intellectual forum for scholarly women she founded in 1887. It became one of the most successful periodicals of the time and until 1917. In her articles Parren brought forward the first coherent ideas about a women’s liberation programme in Greece redefining traditional gender roles within the framework of the Greek nationalist ideology of the time. Moderate, as it may seem today, it provoked an outcry in those days.

Apart from journalism Parren also wrote translations, interviews, travel journals, biographies, novels and plays. In one of her most well-known works, the trilogy ‘The Book of Dawn’ (1899-1903) she described the emancipation of women as a process of self-discovery gradually releasing women from the restraints of social conventions leading towards equal relations between male and female roles in society. She describes her vision of women as educated and independent but also maternal-capable and the nationalist sentiments of the time is reflected in the idea that women should raise citizens that are willing to sacrifice everything for the security and social progress of their nation.

In 1896 she also founded the ‘Union for the Emancipation of Women’ and the ‘Union of Greek Women’. She educated women in reading and writing, founded hospitals and homes for widows and orphans. It was through her influence that women were permitted to study at the Universities in Greece and women doctors were appointed to women’s prisons. She also campaigned for a legislation to protect women in paid employment.

Because she was opposed to Greece participating in World War I she was exiled to the island of Hydra in 1917 and therefore had to close down her newspaper. But on her return the following year she immediately took up her work again. In between the two world wars she presided over the ‘Lykeion ton Ellidon’ (Lyceum of Greek Women) but other women’s organisations had been formed and gradually she became a representative of the more conservative position among the women’s liberation movements in Greece. Her organisation mainly engaged in philanthropic work.

She was awarded the Silver medal of the Athens Academy, the Silver Medal of the Red Cross and the Medal of the Municipality of Athens. Kalliroi Siganou-Parren never had any children. She lived with Jean Parren until her death in 1940. She is buried at the First Cemetery in Athens.

Commemorative bust of Kalliroi Siganou-Parren that stands in her memory near her home time outside of Rethymnion, Crete

If it was not for her foresight, you and your sisters would not be the doctors, lawyers, corporate professionals that you are allowed to be today in addition to the mothers and grandmothers you have always taken as a given. A new wave of reformers must come up through the ranks especially in the wake of the Eurocrisis where women’s work has been devalued (I heard of a neighbor, a single mom, working for 12-hour shifts in a bakery in Athens for 400 euros a month) and many of the social services allocated to women and children have been cut.

Now more than ever we need to support women and the institutions that help them gain economic independence, counseling, professional networking, and the ability to live fulfilled lives. Please help support the Hellinida Foundation which supports Greek women through education, advocacy, and celebration.

Last month I explored the Epiros Mountains. Besides the splendid panoramic vistas and the soul-refreshing aromas of mountain herbs, I kept running into memorial for World War II veterans. Little mountain villages like Pades, had memorial monuments commemorating the dead and buried—young men not more than 21 years old to middle-aged fathers of four. I thought this was a normal thing; but there were too many. There was even a military museum in

I meandered through the treacherous mountain road, the one that linked the mountains from the ski resort to Konitsa, exploring the vast, quiet corner of the country. I passed through village after village, quaint and quiet, peopled by at most 10 souls. A crooked metal sign bowing from the wind in hand painted white letters signaled something of interest off the side of the road. If you weren’t going slowly or looking out for it, you would miss it, so nondescript was it. I pulled off the road and parked; it was a forgotten military cemetery on a hill underneath Mount Timfis; Konitza and its surrounding valley within eyeshot. A long footpath led to its gate. It was locked. But a little leap from the side all and you were in. (So much for Greek tendency of taking care of the details.) It was nothing but a plain square with a giant rectangular stone tomb in the middle. On the tomb, two extra-large wreaths, maybe ten feet in diameter, by now withered and brown, lay in eternal wait for next year’s memorial commemoration. In the hush of forest, the pines stood sentinel around the marble perimeter of the cemetery, itself like a square jail cell. On each corner a prominent marble cross.

One of many memorial plaques on the mountain roads of Epiros near the Albanian Front commemorating the sacrifices of soldiers and villagers from World War 2

Then it dawned on me—I was standing on holy ground. This was the front, the Albanian Front, the on that had stood up to Mussolini’s ultimatum. It was here that the Greek sense of philotimo shouted back a resounding “OXI” that reverberated through the mountains, through the valleys, and beyond through the annals of recorded history. I was standing on holy ground.

As a Greek immigrant to the US, I had never learned about my country’s history. The closest I got was through the Founding Father’s awe of Greek ideals: Thomas Jefferson spoke Greek fluently, the Capitol building constructed in classical style, the craze to name newly incorporated towns classically like Athens, Ithaca, Corinth. We never learned about the pivotal role Greece played in World War 2 or any war. It was overlooked, quiet, a country of a few million backwards farmers. We were told how it was Marshall and his plan that saved Greece from the communists.

Walking through those mountains, I remembered the stories about my grandfather. He too was conscripted from his island in the Cyclades to fight in this very front. My yiayia remembered how the Italians who overpowered the islands took over their house as headquarters. My grandparents had a lot of arable land and were known on the island for their generous giving away of their goat cheeses, yogurt and flour. My yiayia, clever as a fox, made sure to hide the large heads of cheeses in a ditch near the aloni, the stone chaffing mill. She waited till the company of Italian soldiers had descended the large mountains; she knew they were watching with binoculars, so she hid the stuff just as the bushes hid their view of the house. She has 7 months pregnant with four small children at the time in a remote village in the back side of a remote island. “Dove queso?” they questioned her putting their hands to their mouths. “Look,” she said pointing to the four small children hugging her legs, “picolli” She made a motion with her hands to show them they needed to eat a lot.
The Italians even while they were following directives were bon vivants. They painted the stone house a rich salmon. Smoked tobacco and drank wine. As clever as my grandmother, they stamped on the stone tiles in the kitchen, rummaged around the hay near the mill and eventually found most of the hidden cheese. They had a party. But they fed the four little kids jumping around like wild goats.

While this was happening to his island home, Pappou was battling the snow and the nasty Italian fascists in the rugged mountains around the Zachorochorgia.
For what it’s worth, here is a textbook account of events from that time, (gracias to Wikipedia):

The Italian army invaded Greece on 28 October before the Italian ultimatum expired. The invasion began disastrously, the 140,000 troops of the Italian Army in Albania being poorly led and equipped, and having to cope with the mountainous terrain on the Albanian–Greek border and tenacious resistance by the Greek Army. By mid-November the Greek army had stopped the Italian invasion just inside Greek territory, and counter-attacked, pushing the Italians back into Albania, culminating with the Capture of Klisura Pass in January 1941. The Italian defeat and the Greek counter-offensive of 1940 have been called the first “first Axis setback of the entire war” by Mark Mazower, the Greeks “surprising everyone with the tenacity of their resistance”. After reinforcing the Albanian front to 28 divisions, the Italians conducted a spring offensive in 1941, which also failed and by February there was a stalemate.
In the spring of 1941, the failure of the Italian counter-offensive and the arrival of British ground forces in Greece led the Germans to invade on 6 April. During the Battle of Greece, Greek and British forces in northern Greece were overwhelmed and the Germans advanced rapidly into Greece. In Albania, the Greek army made a belated withdrawal to avoid being cut off by the Germans, was followed up slowly by the Italians and surrendered to German troops on 20 April 1941 (then to Italy for propaganda reasons several days later). Greece was occupied by Bulgarian, German and Italian troops. The Italian army suffered 154,172 casualties from all causes and the Greek army about 90,000 losses.

Against the stereotypes of the ruffian, disorganized army, it was men with women and children back home, far far away, as well as local mountain boys, who withstood the fascist advance. A handful of soldiers, hungry and slipshod, chattering in the bitter wind—these have always been the thin line of defense against the barbarian horde.

In his best-selling book, Los Soldados de Salamina, Jose Caceres makes the same point. The survival of civilization has always depended on a handful of simple men who fought against incredible odds on the side of goodness, righteousness, and democracy.

It is men and women like my Pappou whose sacrifice we remember today under the somber stillness of the cypress and pine in the forgotten military cemetery dotting the mountainsides in a rugged landscape.

It is the loudness of their simple acts that translated Metaxa’s defiant “OXI” that can be heard in the silence of their graves.

Epirus, the northeast province of Greece, is a hidden gem. The Pindus mountain range is responsible for its rugged beauty as well its remoteness. Stepping away from the university town of Ioannina, “me ta papoutsia panena,” (the Dalaras song always pops into my head at its name), your sense of awe is deepened with the majestic peaks of the Tymphi mountain range, giants baptized with names such as Gkamila, Astraka, Tsouka Rosa. The necklace of mountain villages that surround the mountain canyons are known as Zachorochoria, or the villages of the canyon. Places such as Vikos, Papigo Megalo and Mikro, Klidonia, Aristi. These are some of the most darling of jewels to drape the neck of these mountains.

Epirus is the northwest corner of the province. It is a nature lover’s dream. Especially because the famous Vikos Gorge can be found there. The mountains of those ranges, Smolikas, Grammos, Vasilitsa, Nemerstsika, Tymphi and the Vikos National Park have been collected into a natural reserve belonging to the European network of protected areas known as Natura 2000. They have joined to produce the largest protected area ever established in Greece, the National Park of Northern Pindos. Additionally, the Vikos-Aoos region has been officially relegated as a “geopark.” A geopark contains a certain number of geological heritage sites of all categories and geotopes. (It’s good to take this trip with a geologist; otherwise every rock looks like any other).

The Vikos-Aoos park garnered the award of UNESCO Global Geoparks status in 2010. What makes this region incredible is its rich variety of geological and natural features, making it a natural outdoor sculpture park. Tower-like structures stand like primitive sculptures chiseled by the wind made by the erosion of dolomite rock. There’s an egg-like structure made of chert inside the limestones of Gamila plateau. There are faults and folds, fluvial terraces, rock shelters, and even prehistoric paths traveled by Ice Age hunters in the Voidomatis river.

And if that wasn’t enough, then there is Vikos Gorge. The entire canyon is a set of geotopes. It has evolved into its own ecosystem renowned for its medicinal herbs. Back in the 16th and 17th centuries, the Zagorogiatri, or doctors of the canyon as they were termed, brought their knowledge of local botany to all of Europe. They even collected themselves like medieval guilds passing their knowledge of medicinal plants and remedies from one generation to the other. From the view of the steep canyon drop from the village of Vikos you can still witness the sprouting of wild mint, lime flowers blooming, Melissa Hypericum perforateuon, and the wild dance of hundreds of species of butterflies. WOW! WOW! and WOW! There are no words to describe the experience you have to stand there yourself.

The journey through the Pindus mountains, however, is not for the light of heart or the sensitive of stomach. Lynchpin curves give way to vistas of valleys of Ioannina and Konitsa. The panorama of Konitsa, a picturesque village built on the slopes of Mt Trapezitisa, is out of a fairy tale. Clay tiled traditional homes leaning into the crisp mountain air with the meandering Aoos River shimmering silver below. Konitsa is famous for three things: Ali Pasha’s mother, Elder Paissios, and stone bridges. Elder Paissios, recently canonized a saint, was born in Konitsa and served in the remote monastery of Stomio before moving to Mt Athos. The monastery of Molivodoskepasti is even older, dating back to the 7th century. Hamko, the mother of the infamous Ali Pasha was born in Konitsa; her house is a mansion you can walk through. The region of Konitsa is known for its well-constructed stone bridges that arc like a grey rainbow through the landscape. Hands have placed stone upon stone delicately but sturdily to create these wonders of engineering.

Did I mention that the area has curative baths, in other words, girls, a natural spa? The mineral baths are a secret that few know about. The steam baths of Amarantos, about 35 km from Konitsa, are warm so you can even bring your bikini in the snowy winter and enjoy them (OK exaggerating, they are only open from June to October.) The mud or sulphuric baths of Kavasila (16.5 km away from Konitsa) might stink a bit but they are good for rejuvenating the collagen in your skin cells.

I could have ended my mountain journey by stopping for respite in Konitsa. But this intrepid explorer was not content with the luxury available in this town. Four even 5 star hotels, (Konitsa Mountain Resort Hotel for example) could be found there for under 100 Euros a night during the off-season. OXI! I took the road less traveled and ventured around more winding cliffs, for close to another 45 minutes, a feat that the 8-year-old in the back did not lurch through all that maneuvering. I had to admit, traveling at dusk with a small child through dizzying heights on mountain roads some unpaved, without GPS service , the imposing mountains glaring down at you, puts the fear of God/Nature/the Great Being or nature into you.

Thank goodness for the light of the full moon–a raging orange sphere– and we reached the village of Pades, a mountain post made up of in total 10 people at the most. Pades is home to the mountain resort of Munti Smolikas. It has been converted from a country schoolhouse into a lovely hotel with 15 beds. The owners Kostas Zografos, Dimitri Pavlidis and Sofia Panna quit the city life in Thessaloniki to find sanctuary in the cool mountain air. They run an impeccably clean guest house, tall ceilings, crisp linens for a remarkable price of 15 Euro per bed per night. But just because Munti Smokikas is affordable does not make it skimp on the essentials. Things like soap and heavy duty toilet paper, and the best reggae music from a stable Internet connection. Their kitchen provides simple hearty fare. The youthful atmosphere of this lodge is unexpected especially for a place most city-folk stereotype as inhabited by retired yiayias and pappous. But for these three partners, in their 20s and early 30s, the choice to run a remote mountain resort year round had to do more with personal choice than the crisis.

“We have tried to select the positive elements of our grandparents’ way of life,” Sophia Panna says. “We are searching for a healthy way of life in nature.”

They do not deny that the crisis had something to do with the wave of young people in Greece who are rediscovering their grandparents’ villages.

“You choose what you demand from the city and you shape that with what the country gives you. But lets not deny the fact that it’s not that easy to grow a few tomato plants on top of a mountain the whole year round. Most of us are not used to this kind of life,” their friend Despina from Vonitza chimes in.

Dimitri got disillusioned with the city life from his job running a kiosk in Thessaloniki. “The people of the city disappointed me. It was the crisis, their problems, you’d say hello, thank you to them and they wouldn’t say anything back.”

“The people of the mountain are totally different,” he continues. “They are honest, more pleasant. The man of the city is way different from the man of the mountain. The man of the mountain helps you , he’s cleaner. You cannot hide your true self on the mountain. It does not matter your profession, how much money you have. The mountain shows your true colors.”

Sophia’s choice to head for the mountains was clear from the beginning. She found the city life unthinkable for herself as an option. “People are waiting to watch the 8 o’ clock TV serial to get a sense of belonging,” she explains. “People follow the script—get a job, get married, have kids, retire—but that’s not living an authentic life. Sometimes we romanticize the village life, but in an age where everything is leveled, it’s a good thing to have a bit of romanticism in you. Most people think that this type of life is for those 80 years old and over. It’s a question of choice; where do you envision yourself living.”

“It is not enough to look at what is all around us, have a quick drink of tsipouro, and then go back to the city,” Despina adds. “You have to deeply understand what this type of life offers you.”

Pades village, under the radar, simple, with no claim to fame, is exactly what the post-modern soul yearns for.

In case I have not convinced you to trek out there (be forewarned it is a trek: 7-8 hours from Athens), here is a list of activities waiting for you when you arrive:

Paragliding : (I’m coming back to do that one; the take-off platform is on the hill of Prophet Ilias 1.071 meters above Konitsa—simply awesome!)

Skiing and snowboarding at Ski Resort Vasilitsa 30 kms away

Horse back riding

Alpine skiing

Climbing the gorge at Via Ferrata

Bird watching in the spring you can hear the nightingale sing.

and of course, just being. I am content just to sit and take in the panoramic views of Tymphi, Grammos, Trapezitsa, Nemertsilka and Basilitsa from the wooden tables in front of Munti Smolikas in Pades.
Web page at www.muntismolikas.com
Facebook: Ξένωνας Munti Smolikas